Foxblood: The Trilogy

By Raquel Lyon

Containing all three books in the Foxblood trilogy.

A Brush with the Moon

One incident can change your life. For Sophie, it was the day the fox attacked her.

All Sophie ever wanted was a way out. Only a few weeks ago, she was a quiet art student with an overbearing mother and no higher dream than starting university and reuniting with her BFF, but destiny intervenes in the form of a fox bite.

If being attacked by a rabid animal isn’t freaky enough, her new town has secrets. People are dying, and Sophie feels she is being watched. Then there’s the arrogant and annoyingly sexy Sebastian with his plummy accent and come-to-bed eyes creeping her out. She should stay well away, but then he does live in the spooky manor house, and curiosity is her middle name.

Rise of the Hellion

Something’s stalking Sophie—and it’s not just her boyfriend’s cute cousin!

Pulled from a life of obscurity and chosen to take over from a dying goddess, Sophie is thrown into a world where the supernatural is normal and the humans are oblivious.

Without meaning to, Sophie is making enemies, and as corpses mount, she fears for the people she cares for, but when someone she loves is accused of the killings, Sophie is convinced it can’t be true and sets out to prove their innocence.

Fall from Grace

Girl or goddess? Sophie has a decision to make.

With the supernatural world in a state of unrest and her feelings for Connor intensifying, Sophie’s life is out of control, and she needs to get it back on track. But no matter how hard she tries, her desire to do what is right is faltering.

Life is complicated.

Is the chance of happiness really worth destroying her future?

One thing is certain. To fulfil her destiny, she must leave behind everything she loves.

This book was written, produced, and edited in the UK, where some spelling, grammar, and word usage will vary from US English.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Raquel Lyon
• Release date: May 20, 2016
• ISBN: 9781386904748

Book preview

Foxblood

Book One: A Brush with the Moon

Prologue

THE STONE WALLS closed in, becoming her tomb. All around, the creatures advanced, hungry for blood, and below her, the belly of the castle vibrated with death. Struggling to escape the chains that bound her was useless. She was powerless before the monster that now turned to greet her. Red eyes bored cruelly into her from a face that used to have human features; a face that belonged to someone she had once thought could be her friend. But friendship was the stuff of fantasies, just like the figure she now feared. It approached, laughing, talons outstretched, reaching for her throat. She resigned herself to death.

Chapter One

"SOPH? SOPHIE! I can tell you’re daydreaming again, you know. Beth’s voice echoed through the receiver. Do you think you could quit playing with the fairies for just one minute and listen to me? This is important!"

I had no idea what had got her so pumped up. Beth was easily excited, and I often switched off midflow to give my ears a rest. I’d already been tired when her name lit up the handset, but I’d never leave her call unanswered.

Sophie Maeva Crevan, listen to me or I’ll put the phone down and you’ll regret it.

Her use of my full name had the desired effect.

Okay, I’m listening. Get on with it. You’re giving me an earache.

I’ve done it. I’ve found us a place. I told you I’d get one in time. Repeat after me: ‘Beth, you’re the best.’

Finally. I had begun to think that I’d end up kipping on Mr Morrison’s floor, and Beth’s father has never been my greatest fan. You found us a place? Really? Can we afford it?

"Only eighty a week, with utilities included, and it’s huge." Beth was clearly pleased with herself. I might not have been able to see her face, but I could imagine the goofy grin spread across it as she spoke.

"No. I don’t believe you. There’s got to be a catch."

Um...well...yeah, but it’s no biggie. Nobody else seems to want it because it’s over the undertaker’s, that’s all.

"That’s all? Great, Beth. It sounds exactly like the kind of place I’ve always imagined living in."

Now, don’t be ungrateful, she said. I’ve worked really hard to find somewhere. It wasn’t easy, you know. All the good places have already gone. Beth’s frustration seeped down the phone line. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. The last undertaker died, and the new guy doesn’t want to live in the flat. He’s been trying to rent it for months without getting a single sniff. Goodness knows why.

Really? I’m shocked.

I’m picking up the keys on Thursday, and we can move in straight away. You’ll need to bring your biggest paintbrush, though. It needs a little TLC.

Big paintbrush, check. Don’t worry. I’ll be there next Friday, as planned. I can’t wait. I might even let you pick me up from the station.

Sure. Just let me know what time, and I’ll be there holding a huge banner saying, ‘Welcome to your new life.’ Believe me, you’re gonna love it here. The surfer dudes are to die for. She sighed. Typical Beth. Mind in the gutter.

"Yeah? Well, they’re all yours. I plan to concentrate on my studies, without any distractions," I said.

Now, you know that’s not gonna happen, Soph. Uni is all about the parties, and I need my wing-girl. Don’t worry. You’ll still have plenty of boring painting time. So, I’ll see you Friday, and you’d better have your happy face on, she said, ending the call abruptly.

Discarding my mobile phone onto the pretty patchwork quilt my Nanna had made as a present for my seventh birthday, I looked around the room. Every available bit of wall space was crammed with my creations from the past fifteen years.

I’d first picked up a paintbrush at the age of three, when my Nanna bought me some huge pots of bright, sloppy poster paint for Christmas, and every painting I produced from that first baby set had ended up stuck on her kitchen cupboards. I’d loved my Nanna. She’d died when I was twelve.

My head sank into the pillow, and layers of my life stared down at me, pictures from the past. Yet on the floor, an open suitcase held a promise of the future. I’d already packed some clothes and treasured possessions, but I was struggling to reduce the rest of my stuff to a more manageable amount.

I couldn’t wait to get out of Brumpton. This dreary, forgotten town full of crumbling, dingy buildings with boarded-up windows and a cloud of depression suffocating the skies was not where I planned to waste my life. And besides, I had too many bad memories of the place.

Mum had moved to Brumpton after she got married, and unlike the majority of residents, she managed to find a job. She still worked in the same place she had for the past fifteen years...the local supermarket. It was the kind of store where there was only ever one of every item on the shelf, and it was also one of the few shops still left trading. Mum hated every minute, but she only complained to the bottom of a wine glass, and at least the bills got paid.

I vowed never to end up like Mum.

Sophie! Your tea’s ready, Mum called from downstairs.

I’ll be down in a minute.

I couldn’t wait to tell Mum that Beth and I had got a place, and that she wouldn’t have to worry about me bunking down in some seedy B&B somewhere. But she’d probably fret anyway. She was clingy like that.

It’s getting cold! she shouted.

I said, I’ll be down in a minute.

She was at it again...worrying. Mum always worried. She worried about my studies. She worried I wasn’t eating properly. She worried I spent too much time on my own, painting—saying it wasn’t natural. Whenever we argued about it, she accused me of being strange. Apparently, I should have been out socialising more, getting drunk with my mates like other normal teenagers, but every time I went out, she worried I wouldn’t come home. Sometimes, she even worried about how little of my money I spent—right before tapping me for a couple of quid for her latest bottle of booze.

It was true: I had saved well. At fifteen, I managed to get a Saturday job at the local pet shop, Miow Chow, and I would still have been there if they hadn’t finally given up and shut their doors two months ago. But money was never my reason for working there. I loved the animals. I studied their anatomy and even sketched them on quieter days. I always bought my clothes from charity shops, and nights out in Brumpton never changed. One night in one club that didn’t look too closely at fake I.D. cards. So, yes, I had a healthy stash, but my savings were my insurance, my means of escape, and I was going to need every penny.

I picked up a dirty coffee cup and gave my table a quick tidy, chuckling to myself as I remembered Beth’s comment about the surfers.

One of Mum’s favourite discussions was the subject of boys. She was always asking why I didn’t have a boyfriend. But I knew she’d still nag me even with a man in my life, so my answer had always been the same: I’m not interested. It wasn’t much of a lie, and it kept her off my back.

Dragging myself away from my thoughts, I went downstairs to the kitchen, where Mum was busy dishing out the tea, and I noticed we were having fried food...again.

There you are, Sophie. Could you set the table, please? Mum said, clearly flustered.

Sure. Can I get you a drink?

Thank you, darling. I’ll have a small glass of rosé. I raised my eyebrows with the unspoken question. Yes, I know, she said, but I’ve had a terrible day, and it helps to settle my nerves.

It had taken a while for Mum to accept that I was moving away. She’d said she understood my need to go, but I could tell she wasn’t pleased about it, and I just knew she’d be emailing, texting, and phoning at all hours of the day to check up on me. I often wondered how she’d cope without me to help around the house, but at least she would still have Todd, and at fourteen, I thought it would be a long time before he gave up his home comforts.

Right on cue, the back door opened and Todd came lolling in, all six foot of him. People said we were similar in looks, but he had a few more freckles and darker hair.

He shook off his wet jacket and glanced at me. All right, sis.

He’d always looked up to his ‘big sis’, so I thought he’d probably miss me, but it would do him good to be a bit more independent and do his own homework for a change.

He plonked himself down at the table. What’s for tea? I’m starving, he grunted.

***

Sunday brought a beautiful, sunny morning. I rose early and threw back the curtains to let in the warmth. The holidays were nearly over, and I needed one last painting trip before having to face the monotony of finishing my packing. So I gathered my materials together, threw them into my oversized shoulder bag, hooked a wooden easel under my arm, and set off.

Without knowing why, I turned in the opposite direction from my usual route across the fields and found myself on the outskirts of town, near the old power station. It had long been deserted—since the explosion that had killed my father and many of Brumpton’s other menfolk—and some of the wire fencing had come away from the post enough for me to squeeze through. My curiosity sparked, and I made my way around to the back of the building, wading through knee-high, sun-scorched grass to a place where a tall, slim chimney dominated the skyline. I loved the lines it created and the way the sunlight bounced off the old bricks. Eager to transfer the scene to canvas, I unfolded my easel, opened my paints, and set to work.

Slowly, my painting began to take shape, and I leaned back to ease my stiffened neck. The sun was high in the sky, so I closed my eyes and listened to the cooing doves in the nearby trees as I enjoyed the warmth on my face.

Without warning, a sharp jab pierced my elbow. I grabbed my arm and jolted upright only to find myself staring into the yellow eyes of a fox. It looked like any other wild red fox. A little bigger than I’d imagined a fox would be, up close, but other than that, perfectly normal. And yet it had just bitten me. Why would a fox attack me without provocation? I hadn’t done anything to antagonise it. I wasn’t a threat.

The fox tilted its head and blinked—or was that winked?—before turning tail to disappear into the undergrowth.

In that brief moment I’d locked eyes with the animal, I’d forgotten all about my arm, but as I watched the fox’s colourful brush weave out of sight, a searing pain brought me back to reality, and waves of nausea pulsed through my body until I thought I was going to throw up. Trying to remain focused, I hastily packed away my things and ran home as quickly as my shaky legs would carry me.

Through blurred eyes, I saw my house. I was almost there. The front door came into view, and my hand touched the handle. I turned it and blacked out.

Chapter Two

I COULDN’T REMEMBER being unconscious. I thought I’d been having a weird nightmare where I sank into an alternate world of spinning pictures and swirling colours. And I never found out whether my condition had been caused by an infection brought on by the fox’s bite or the cocktail of drugs being pumped into my arm to save me. All I could remember about that time was a kaleidoscope of images whirling around and blurring together: crumbling brick walls, the fox, screaming faces, snarling teeth, piercing turquoise eyes, endless blackness, and in the background, muffled voices that I couldn’t decipher.

When normality returned, Mum told me I’d collapsed as I opened the front door, and she’d had to rush me to hospital. I’d been out for two days before surprising the doctors with a sudden recovery. They wanted to keep me in for observation and tried to get Mum to persuade me to stay, but I didn’t see the need.

I want to go home, Mum. Honestly, I’m fine, I said, hoping the words coming out of my mouth were true. I felt great, yes, but there was something else, an uneasy feeling I couldn’t quite put my finger on. I pushed it to the back of my mind.

But there might be after-effects, Mum said, trying to dissuade me. You’ve had a traumatic experience, Sophie, not to mention all those drugs.

I swung my legs from under the covers. Well, they obviously worked. I’ve never felt better.

I really think you should take the doctor’s advice and stay a bit longer, love.

Not a chance, Mum. Can you please ask them for the discharge papers? I’m going to uni in two days, and I’ve got packing to finish.

***

Leaving Brumpton was easy. I had no regrets. Mum had become even more protective of me after my hospital stay, but I couldn’t let my conscience prevent me from living my dream. She had to let me go sometime.

She wasn’t able to wave me off at the station. Her scumbag boss wouldn’t give her the day off, so I had to drag my cases to the supermarket to say my goodbyes, where I found her in the chiller aisle busily pricing up the reduced items. As I watched the sticker gun spewing out the bright red sales labels, I vowed that one day things would be different. One day, I would take her away from her drudgery.

She saw me coming, and at the sight of me surrounded by all my worldly possessions, she burst into tears. It took some time to prise out of her farewell bear hug, and I almost missed my train.

***

It was a long and boring journey. I passed the time by staring out of the window imagining what might lie ahead for me, nervous and full of excitement for my new life, and absolutely dying to see Beth again.

Beth and I had grown up together in Brumpton. We were total opposites. Mother Nature had blessed Beth with a bubbly, vivacious personality at birth, and consequently, she would have much rather partied than study, and she hated being alone. Me—I didn’t mind my own company, but I’ll admit I needed Beth to keep me from becoming a total recluse. That’s why I was so upset when Beth’s dad got a new job and she told me she was moving to the other end of the country. It was the first time I’d felt truly lonely. Of course we’d kept in touch by text and email, but it wasn’t the same. I really missed my best friend.

The train pulled into a station, and I checked my map. Five down, twenty-six to go. I couldn’t get there soon enough.

It had only been weeks since I’d last seen Beth, but it felt like years. I’d had to peel my jaw off the floor when I secured a placement at the same uni. Without it, I would have been stuck serving burgers at the local greasy spoon, or working behind a bar, fending off drunken advances, whilst attending our local graffiti-covered dump. I was so grateful to avoid that future. Being an energetic soul, Beth has chosen to study PE. For her, it was the obvious choice. I had never wanted to do anything other than art.

Outside the train window, the fields grew greener, and my smile widened. The late afternoon sun gave the distant hills an orange glow, a warm sandwich filling between the cool bread slices of the sky and fields. I couldn’t wait to have some new scenery to discover. I loved it already. The pretty view couldn’t be more different from my dismal childhood surroundings.

I had entered the world on a cold, grey day, with the wind howling and a thunderstorm threatening, the miserable weather setting a precedent for the early years of my existence. A grey little girl in a grey little world; that was who I was. The only colour I had ever had in my life lay on a canvas.

Halfway through the journey, I fell asleep and dreamt of those eyes again.

They watched over me as the devil held me in his grasp, laughing and inciting me to attack. I kept punching at his face, but he mocked my efforts and came back stronger every time. His grip was crushing, too strong for me to struggle against, and I knew that if I didn’t escape, I would be dead soon. I panicked and stuck my fingers down his throat. He heaved and retched. Blood-tainted sick spewed from his mouth, and he withered and melted down, becoming his own vomit.

The train slowed down on its approach to Fosswell station, and the change of pace awoke me from my slumber, releasing me from Hell.

I craned my neck toward the window to catch a glimpse of Beth...and spotted her. She was standing at the end of the platform holding one end of a banner, exactly as she’d said she would be doing. The other end of the banner was being held by a guy with curly, mousey blond hair, who was wearing a tight, pale-blue T-shirt with the sleeves cut off, shorts, and a sun visor. They spotted me and started jumping up and down, waving. I grabbed my belongings and hauled them towards the door as the train came to a stop.

Need a hand with those, Miss? the guard asked.

No, I’m fine, thanks. My friends are right there. I pointed as the doors opened, and Beth came rushing over.

A hand brushed mine as it took hold of my case’s handle, and a hot electric rush pulsed through my body. Let me get this one for you, a voice said.

I looked up, about to protest, and found myself staring into the most intoxicating eyes—bright turquoise green with a distinctive dark ring around the iris—the same eyes I’d just been dreaming about on the train; the same eyes that had been appearing to me in my dreams since I was a little girl. But before I could get a better look, they disappeared from view as their owner took my largest suitcase and stepped from the train. He dropped the case unceremoniously at Beth’s feet and headed towards the turnstile, and as I watched him weave through the crowd, an old man caught my eye.

Stood in the middle of the platform, he was dressed in long johns, a string vest, yellow shorts, a long Mac, flippers, and a sou’wester. Over his shoulders hung a placard predicting the end of the world. Alighting passengers tried to give him a wide berth as he grabbed arms and coats, struggling to attract an audience.

Take no notice of him, Beth said. That’s Boatman John, homeless guy, mad as a flea, always rambling on about something or other.

Is that all of them? Beth’s friend asked, staring at my bags.

What? Oh...um, yes. I stammered back to my senses, still thinking about those eyes. Where’s your car, Beth?

Having the brakes done. This is Justin, by the way, Beth explained. We met at the gym. He only goes there to check out the talent, she sniggered to me behind her hand.

Justin flexed his puny biceps. I can’t deny it. Do I look as if I go there to work out?

I liked him immediately, and chuckled. Hi.

So, who was your knight in shining armour, then? Beth asked, glancing over at my baseball-capped helper, now disappearing through the exit.

I sighed, wishing I knew. No idea.

***

The taxi pulled up outside a triple-fronted, black-painted shop in the centre of town. Fenton’s Funeral Parlour, said the gold lettering on the swinging sign outside.

Home, said Beth.

Creepy, said Justin, pulling a face.

That’ll be a fiver, love, said the taxi driver, grinning at me through the rear-view mirror.

The flat’s entrance was down the side alley and up a set of metal stairs leading to the floor above the shop. The stairs evened out to form a balcony platform outside the door. As I struggled to climb the stairway with my cases, I glanced down towards the back of the shop. There were no windows, only a sturdy metal door, also painted black. The yard was neatly paved with old flags, and a double-gated entrance opened out onto the backstreet.

That’s where they bring in the bodies, Beth said as she unlocked the door, then she disappeared through it.

I shivered, not wishing to dwell too much on that thought, and quickly followed her inside.

Grateful to finally be here, I dropped my heavy case onto the bare floorboards, disturbing a cloud of dust, and looked around. You could have cleaned up a bit, I said.

I have. Well, I’ve made a start, but gimme a chance. I only got the keys yesterday, Beth protested. At least I got the essentials, though, she added, pointing to a shiny new kettle. Cup of tea?

The living area was huge and definitely had potential. In the wall facing me, there were six long windows which looked out onto the street below. To my left was a small kitchen area. There were no mod cons, just a few units, a cooker, a fridge, and a sink standing underneath a window with a dirty café-style net curtain across the bottom. Behind me, the back wall was one huge expanse of glass made up of small squares like something in an old factory, and there was an open fireplace on the end wall to my right, with a door to the left of it.

That leads to the bedrooms, Beth explained, noticing my scrutiny. Come and look, she said, pulling me along by my arm.

I followed her across the apartment and into a small hallway with three doors. This is my room, she said, opening the door ahead too briefly for me to see anything. That’s the bathroom. She pointed to a door on the right. And this is your room, she said, ushering me into the back bedroom. Now, I realise it needs a bit of work and...um...a bed...but I know you’ll love it, she called over her shoulder as she left me alone.

So, this was it, then. My new pad. A room measuring about four metres square. In front of me, the wall was filled with old wooden fitted cupboards, and to my right, a window looked out over the backyard. The room was cold and uninviting, and I couldn’t see myself spending much time in it, so I exited quickly, closing the door behind me.

Before returning to the main room, I checked out the bathroom. Not too bad; at least the suite was white—or it was supposed to be. Next, I snuck a peek into Beth’s room. Quite clearly, the cheeky cow had pinched the best room for herself. It was way bigger than mine was, and it had a bed. No wonder she hadn’t wanted me to see it.

I walked over to her window and surveyed the scene below. On the opposite side of the street was a cute olde worlde style, wooden-fronted trio of shops, comprised of a newsagent’s and greengrocer’s, both painted in bottle green, and a butcher’s, painted white. Tagged onto the end of the row, and looking oddly out of place, was Despots Night Club, a dark building with blacked-out windows.

As I watched, a Mercedes pulled up and a smart-suited man with black, slicked-back hair got out. He lit a cigarette and entered the club.

Justin’s just nipped out to collect the takeaway, Beth said as I returned to join her. And we’ve borrowed some sleeping bags for tonight. I thought it might be fun to have a girly sleepover style evening. She giggled as she squeezed out a tea bag. I hope you didn’t want sugar. I forgot to get some.

She looks sweet enough to me. Justin panted as he returned with the food. God, those stairs are going to be the death of me, he said, slamming the door shut with his foot.

The weather was cool for the end of August, so we spent the evening curled up in our sleeping bags, eating Chinese food in front of a makeshift fire, chatting about the past, the future, boys, and how we were going to renovate the flat. Justin mentioned that there was a great second-hand shop around the corner, where we could probably get all the stuff we needed. I thought it sounded like a plan for the morning.

***

I awoke with a start and gasped for air, feeling like all the breath had been drained from my body. With gleams of sweat beading on my forehead, I pushed the damp sleeping bag away. I’d had the dream again, slightly different this time, hands reaching and clawing at my thinly shrouded body. The eyes were turquoise green, the same as always. The eyes I’d seen at the station, but in my dream, they were huge, hovering over me, drawing me towards them, smothering me until I couldn’t breathe, while all the time a pure white fox skipped playfully around my supine body.

I wondered what time it was and looked at my watch. 6:27. Hmm, still early. I slid on my slippers and wandered over to the kitchen to switch on the kettle. Beth and Justin were fast asleep and I didn’t want to disturb them, so I ventured into my bedroom, brew in hand, and drew back the moth-eaten curtains to sit on the windowsill. The panes hadn’t seen a cloth for years and were impossible to see out of, so I found myself contemplating my own reflection.

I’d never thought of myself as good-looking. In fact, I had been a plain child with mousey brown, uncontrollable hair, a pale complexion with a few too many freckles, and a wide mouth with slightly protruding front teeth. Of course my mother had insisted I was beautiful and that my features would blossom with age, and I supposed she was right. Studying my face, I concluded that my teeth didn’t seem quite so big, and the sun-kissed auburn highlights in my hair quite suited my complexion.

Steam rose from my cup and clouded the image. I took a sip of tea and turned to face the room.

In the early morning light, I decided it wasn’t actually that bad. There was room to fit a double bed against the wall, and all the cupboard space meant buying a wardrobe would be unnecessary. A good clean, a copious amount of sandpaper, and a few tins of white paint would easily spruce everything up. Vowing to start as I meant to go on, I put down my tea, jumped off the sill, unhooked the curtains, and bundled them into a ball for the bin.

When I returned to the living room, Beth groaned and began to stir. Hmm, what time is it? she asked, blinking open her eyes.

Nearly seven, I said.

"What? That’s practically the middle of the night, she grumbled. Come back to bed, Soph."

Aw, come on. It’s a beautiful day, and we’ve loads to do if we want to get this place decent. Give him a nudge. I nodded in Justin’s direction. I’m just nipping down to the newsagent’s.

Fifteen minutes later I returned, armed with a bagful of cleaning products and some yummy chocolate croissants.

Breakfast? I asked, debagging the croissants.

You know I shouldn’t. I was naughty enough last night, and they’ll go straight to my hips, Beth complained before picking one up and taking a huge bite. We can’t all be as lucky as you, you know.

Poor Beth had always had to battle with her weight—which was probably what had led her down the physical fitness road. She hated the fact that I could stuff my face with chocolate all day and not put on an ounce. I really shouldn’t tempt her, but she was so easily led.

Justin ambled over to join us, one hand scratching his eye and the other adjusting his crotch. He yawned. I’ll help you with those.

Um...sure, I said. As long as you wash your hands first.

The morning was a success. Beth went to collect her car, safe in the knowledge that it was no longer a death trap, and I spent the morning browsing around the second-hand shop. Justin had been right; it did have practically everything I needed, and I hardly made a dent in my savings.

The afternoon was spent scrubbing and sanding down my room. Beth had already cleaned hers, so she and Justin set to work on the living room.

Sunday was painting day, and by the evening, I was ready to install my newly delivered white wrought-iron bed with matching bedside table and all my belongings.

***

Monday morning brought rain. Large drops beat against my bedroom window, and I could faintly see them trickling in rivers down the freshly cleaned panes behind my new muslin curtains. I reached out to silence Barbie and made a mental note to buy a more grown-up alarm clock. I should have been shattered after the weekend’s cleaning marathon, but I felt strangely invigorated, and I was looking forward to my first day at Fosswell University.

The recently refurbished campus was spread out over sprawling, landscaped gardens and was comprised of four large buildings and a gymnasium. Situated in the adjacent field was a sports pitch encompassed by a running track. A couple of tennis courts to the rear abutted the surrounding woods.

I couldn’t believe I’d made it. I was so happy. But as I walked through the gates on that first day, I had no idea what lay ahead.

Chapter Three

I SOON SETTLED into my new routine. The first week was full of introductions and getting my bearings. Then, in the second week, Mr Arkwright, the head of the art department, decided to leave the class unsupervised to compose a still life. A sculpture of recycled rubbish was already constructed on the table in the middle of the classroom, with a circle of easels surrounding it. I threw my bag on the floor and sat down behind one of them in preparation.

Beth popped her head around the door. Cappuccinos at eleven? she asked.

My answer stuck in my throat when, at that precise moment, a tall, slim but muscular blond Adonis strode confidently past the window separating the classroom from the corridor outside.

Head to toe in black—tight jeans and a slim-fit shirt with an overly large collar and cuffs—he painted a very sexy picture. He was so different from the boys back in Brumpton, who lived in their sweatpants and trainers, that I couldn’t help but stare. He turned towards me as he stopped talking to his friend. There was something strangely familiar about him. I even thought our eyes briefly met, but I couldn’t be certain due to his dark-tinted Ray-Bans, and the moment passed as quickly as he did.

Beth glanced over her shoulder to see what had caught my attention, raised her eyebrows, and commented, Nice ass. Good choice. Now, are we on for coffee, or not?

Hmm? Oh, yeah. Sure, I answered, shaking a thought from my head. I’ll see you after class.

***

The refectory was a light, airy room on the ground floor of B block. A door in the floor-to-ceiling glass on the opposite wall to the food counter led out to a small paved picnic area which blended into the grassy mounds beyond. I chose a table by the window and sat down with my cappuccino to wait for Beth.

A portly robin hopped along the patio wall, bobbing to peck up specks of food before peeking around nervously to check if anyone had seen him. His red breast mesmerised me, and I wondered why people called it red when in reality it was more of a burnt orange.

The same could be said for the colour of fox fur.

A shiver ran through me as unpleasant memories came flooding back, and I shook them off as Beth’s voice cut into my thoughts.

Sorry I’m a bit late. There was a catfight over a hairbrush in the changing rooms, and I had to help break it up, she said, plopping down onto the opposite chair.

I looked at the cup she’d placed on the table. Did they get your order wrong? That looks like an espresso.

Beth laughed. Yeah, it is. I decided I needed something stronger. Hey, guess what? That guy you were checking out earlier was in the gym signing up for the Triplasian Tournament. I asked around and came up with some hot info.

I rolled my eyes. Typical Beth.

Of course, if you’re not interested... she said.

I hated it when she teased me. She knew just how to press the right buttons. "I was not checking him out, merely curious. He’s different. And he looked older than us." I was digging, and she knew it.

You noticed that, huh? Well, apparently he’s called Sebastian Lovell. He and his cousin, Connor—that was the other guy who was with him—are quite the topic of conversation right now. The word is they grew up in the city, hopping straight from one boarding school to another. They began their degrees at some upper-class uni, and then strangely both caught some mysterious illness and ended up moving over here to convalesce at their grandma’s place. Quite strange, really. Anyway, now they have to re-take their final year here. What a bummer, huh?

Yeah, bummer. I mulled the information over. So, they must be...what, twenty-two?

How would I know? You know I can’t add up, Beth said, frustrated.

True. So, the Triplasian Tournament, what’s that?

Oh. Just an excuse for a blatant display of testosterone-filled macho-ness. Beth laughed. Actually, I believe the competition dates back to medieval times in this area. Mind you, it used to be sword fighting, arrow shooting, and quarterstaff fighting, but it’s evolved since then into fencing, archery, and bo staffs. It takes place in May, and should be an interesting watch, particularly with so many hotties on display. I certainly plan on checking it out.

Hmm. Well, I’m not here to ogle the eye candy.

"Yeah, yeah. You can’t fool me with that line anymore, Soph. I noticed you not ogling this morning, remember? She narrowed her eyes. I know you, Soph, and I’ve never seen you look at a guy the way you looked at him. You’re hooked."

In a way, she was right, but not for the right reason. Intrigued, yes; hooked, no.

Mind if I join you? a small voice whispered, thankfully silencing Beth and saving me from any more embarrassment. "If I sit alone, he always comes to ‘keep me company’."

The girl pointed with her eyes in the direction of a skinny but toned boy with brown, wavy hair and a turned-up nose. He was wearing a white vest top, navy tracksuit bottoms, and trainers, and he was leaning over the counter trying to sweet-talk the dinner lady into giving him a larger portion.

Oh, I know him, Beth said. That’s Jack. He’s in my class.

Yes. Unfortunately, he wants to know me a little better than I’d like, the girl said. He keeps pestering me to go on a date with him and won’t take no for an answer. Also, he’s got a serious case of the hand grabs. The girl shuffled into a chair and smiled. Sorry, I’m being rude. Hi. I’m Marie. You might have seen me before. I work on reception, she added softly, offering her hand out to shake.

Five minutes later, we were chatting like old friends. Marie seemed really nice. She was a petite girl with dark blonde hair tied back sleekly, wearing a brown suit with a high-neck blouse that made her look a lot older than her twenty-one years, all of which had been spent in Fosswell. She proved to be a mine of local information.

Draining the dregs from my cup, I glanced out of the window. A group of pigeons jostling over a few crumbs near one of the picnic benches was temporarily disturbed by a trio of girls passing through on their way to the building. All fake tan and high heels, they didn’t acknowledge our existence as they entered and tottered past us, giggling.

He definitely smiled at me then, a raven-haired girl said smugly. She turned, looking straight through me, and I noticed that she had violet eyes, a definitely distinctive look.

I think so too, agreed the fluffy bleach blonde to her left. You’ll be working your magic on him in no time.

A willowy, dark-skinned girl smoothed down her all-too-short skirt. Ah-huh. There’s no escape when girlfriend digs her claws in.

Marie caught me staring. That’s Lara Williams—thinks a bit too much of herself, that one—and those are her sidekicks, Megan and Simone, she whispered behind her hand.

I’m betting on three weeks, said the girl identified as Megan.

No way. I go for two, argued Simone.

Marie leaned in. Lara’s parents were killed in an accident eight years ago, she said. It’s quite sad, really. They drove their car clean off Lyall Ridge, and because of the explosion, they could only be identified through dental records. Her mum’s brother, the local vicar, felt sorry for her and took her in, but I’ve heard he panders to her too much, and she takes advantage. Apparently, he’s a rather weedy man with no gumption, and he struggles to control her wild ways, so she walks all over him. She did all right from the life insurance, though, and uses it to buy her popularity.

After that, the rest of the day passed pretty normally, and at four o’clock I went to find Beth for our usual journey home together.

In the gymnasium, the tournament tryouts were in full swing, with lots of masculine competitiveness on show. Through the porthole-style window in the door, I noticed Lara and her friends in the spectator seats, avidly shouting support to the competitors. I followed Lara’s gaze, and it led straight to Sebastian. He was in full fencing regalia, but it was unmistakably him, and I could now see that he had a damn fine pair of legs, nicely sculpted and topped with a pert bottom. The tight trousers of his suit clung in all the right places.

Not that I cared, obviously.

Caught you, Beth said, peering over my shoulder. I knew you fancied him.

Who?

You know who. Luscious Lovell. She nodded in his direction.

I feigned indifference. Oh, don’t be silly. I didn’t even know he was there. Are you ready?

Ah-huh, she said, heading for the door.

Biting my lip, I turned back for one more glimpse just as Sebastian finished his match, removed his foil, and turned to look at the door. I bobbed down quickly and scuttled out of the exit with my heart racing.

Actually, I forgot, Beth said as I caught up to her. I said I’d meet Justin at the gym. We’re doing a taster in taekwondo tonight. Do you want me to drop you off at home first?

No, that’s okay, I said. It’s turned into a nice afternoon, and I fancy a walk.

***

At the back of the campus, I climbed over the wall and jumped down into the adjoining woods, where I wove my way between the trees until I found a well-worn path of dried, cracked mud that led through a copse towards the sound of a river. Carefully avoiding the stinging nettles bowing their heads before me in the breeze, I followed the path as it continued along the water’s edge, leading away from town and towards the hills.

After a while, the river decreased in width, and eventually opened out into a large pond. Here the air was filled with the pungent scent of meadowsweet, and I sat on the edge of a small overhang to rest in the fading sunlight.

The glass-like surface of the pond rippled gently, and a brilliant blue dragonfly flittered in and out of the tall reeds gracefully encircling the water’s edge. I’d walked so far, I’d almost reached the hills where a waterfall gushed down a rocky crevice into the stream feeding the pond at the other side. At the top of the adjacent incline, tall oak and sycamore trees swayed gently together, and as the light changed between the branches, I imagined I could see the sandy-coloured stones of an old building through the leaves.

Alas, there was no time to investigate further. The sun was setting, and I needed to head home before dark, but I resolved to return to paint the scene at the weekend if the weather held. As I turned to get up, a flash of russet in the distance caught my eye. Was it a fox? My familiar shiver returned, along with the memories, and I quickly sped off home.

Chapter Four

FRIDAY NIGHT, babe! I thought we’d check out Despots, if you’ve no other plans, Beth called from the shower. "Actually, sorry, what am I thinking? Of course you don’t have other plans, unless you have a date with a canvas, that is?"

I willed my mock anger to penetrate the bathroom door. Ha, ha. Very funny. In case you haven’t noticed, my brushes have been dry since I moved here, although I do plan to dust them down tomorrow, I shouted back. And, yes, I do fancy a drink tonight. Why not?

Great. Justin’s coming round at eight thirty, and I told Marie we’d see her there. Her friend Carmen is staying at her place tonight, so we’ll get to meet her too.

You already had all this planned, didn’t you? What if I’d said no?

Beth laughed. We’d have gone without you.

By the time we arrived at the club, it was buzzing, and with more luck than management, we managed to find a free table in the corner and squashed ourselves around it. The music was passable, and Beth and Justin decided to make a spectacle of themselves on the dance floor, flirting with anything in trousers while the rest of us watched and laughed.

A rather nerdy-looking boy with glasses and buck teeth squatted down next to me. Excuse me, would you like to dance? he asked.

Marie giggled. Sure she would.

I threw her a shut up stare. Um, I don’t think so. Thanks anyway, I answered with a forced smile.

He shrugged, and as he walked away, I smacked Marie’s arm playfully. Behave, or I’ll tell Jack you said he was cute.

You wouldn’t dare.

Try me.

The evening unfolded as we chatted away. Carmen certainly liked to talk. I found out all about her work on the switchboard at the police station in Carleigh, how she still lived at home with her mum and her annoying younger sister, and the fact that she’d had a string of relationships, all of which had ended badly. Her speech was enough to put me off men for life.

After a couple of rounds, it was my turn to get the drinks in, and as I rose from my chair, I bumped into Jack. He stared at my breasts and asked them to dance. I answered on their behalf. No, thanks. Why don’t you ask Marie? Ah, sweet revenge.

Marie? Who’s Marie? I fancy you, he slurred, still staring at my breasts and jabbing the right-hand one with his finger.

I glanced at Marie, who gave me a wry smile before I pushed Jack to one side, dismissing him. You’re drunk.

Just the way I like them, said Justin, catching Jack as he stumbled. I’ll take good care of him. Justin had fancied Jack for ages, and as far as I was concerned, he was welcome to him.

Perching on a stool at the bar, I placed my order with the hassled-looking barman.

On the house, Martin, a perfectly accented voice said behind me.

The barman looked up from pouring a drink and nodded once. I turned to decline the offer and found myself face to face with the dark-haired, dark-eyed, rather arrogant-looking man whom I’d seen entering the club on my first night in town.

I don’t believe I’ve seen you at Despots before, he said. I’m sure I would have remembered such a pretty face. A slick grin stretched across his face. Welcome to my humble abode. He presented the room by circling his hand around slowly before offering it for me to shake. I’m Vincent.

Vincent’s appearance was as perfect as his accent, and his sharply cut dark suit, stiff white shirt and red tie gave him an air of authority, but he had to be at least thirty, and there was something about him that felt slightly sinister and made me uncomfortable.

Pleased to meet you, I said, nervously shaking his hand. I love your club. I turned to pick up the loaded tray. You’ll have to excuse me. My friends are waiting, so I’d better get back. Thanks for the drinks.

He smiled, showing a perfect set of brilliant white teeth. Anytime, beautiful.

I returned to the table and passed around the drinks.

I saw that, Carmen said, glancing back towards the bar. You don’t want to go there.

Sorry? Oh, you mean Vincent. Why?

First-name terms already? Sophie, be careful. Coming to his club is one thing, but don’t socialise with him. In fact, try to stay unobtrusive, if possible, she said, moving closer so she didn’t have to shout over the music. "You don’t want to be noticed by them. There are stories."

Curiosity had always been my downfall. When I was younger, I’d once got my hand stuck in a bird box because I’d been trying to see if there were any eggs inside it. My dad had had to cut me free with a handsaw.

Carmen had my attention. Who are ‘them’? And what kind of stories?

"Scary ones. He’s a Reith. They’re dangerous. People have been disappearing, and others have died. I mean, there’s usually a plausible story, and there’s never enough evidence to pin anything on them, but somehow the Reiths are always mentioned. Carmen paused and took a sip of her drink. Particularly the elder brother."

Ooo, do tell. I love a bit of gossip, Justin said, now cradling a slumbering Jack’s head in his lap. Everyone glanced across at him, and he started wiggling his protruding tongue from side to side whilst moving Jack’s head up and down.

He’d so kill you if he woke up. Beth laughed before turning back to Carmen. Go on. Tell us more.

I shouldn’t really talk about this stuff in here. You never know who might be listening, Carmen whispered as she nervously scanned the room. Tyron Reith is big in the city, fingers in many pies, the main one being a pharmaceutical laboratory. It appears legit on the outside, like they’re concocting a cure for cancer or something, but... There’s this charity for the homeless thing where people are taken off the streets and supposedly given a new life. The strange thing is, you never see them after that. Not that anyone cares. They’re expendable, aren’t they? The homeless?

I wondered if she would pause for breath, but she didn’t.

Rumour has it, down at the station, that the people are used as human guinea pigs and their bodies secretly disposed of. Not that we can prove anything. There’ve been a couple of incidents here, too.

Really? Like what? I asked.

Well, a couple of years ago, one of Vincent’s employees was found floating in the river. The official line was that the guy had been depressed for months and did himself in, but the coroner recorded a suspicious death. And then last year, Vincent was seeing Rachel, a barmaid here, until she developed a mysterious illness and suddenly died. She turned and looked directly at me. Look, it’s just a friendly warning. You seem like a nice girl, but nice girls are always the ones who get hurt, aren’t they?

It’s fine. I couldn’t care less if I never see him again. He creeps me out. I cringed.

Anyone I know? I do have a way of dealing with unwanted admirers, if you’re in need, a smarmy voice sounded behind me.

I turned and looked up at Vincent. Um...no. No need. I can look after myself. Thanks anyway.

Oh, I don’t doubt it. The teeth made another appearance before he asked, Would you ladies like another drink?

No, um, thank you. You’ve been more than generous, and we’re getting ready to leave.

So soon? Pity. I do hope you...and your friends, he added almost as an afterthought, will visit us again soon. He took hold of my hand and lifted it to his cold lips.

It was like being kissed by a dead fish. I suppressed a shudder.

***

The following morning, Beth was already up when I entered the kitchen.

Toast? she asked, waving her already buttered slice in the air.

It’s okay, thanks. I’ll sort myself out.

Oh, I wasn’t offering, just wondering whether to leave the bread out.

Funny.

I try. She picked up her plate and joined me on the sofa. So, did you have fun last night? I’m surprised you didn’t talk to lover boy, she added casually.

Who?

Sebastian. Who did you think I meant?

Was he there? I didn’t notice, I replied quite truthfully, but with a sense of disappointment that I’d missed him.

"Well, he was standing at the end of the bar with his cousin when you were getting the drinks in, and I have to say, if looks could burn, you and Vincent would be a pile of ashes right now."

Oh, don’t be silly. He can’t have been looking at me. I must have been standing next to a pretty girl or something.

Beth placed her plate on the floor and looked up at me. You know, you don’t give yourself enough credit. You have something that boys find appealing. They look at you all the time. You might not notice it, but I do because I’m usually looking at them while they’re doing it. Sebastian was definitely watching you right up until Vincent came to our table, and then he left, just before we did.

Her words washed over me, and I didn’t really take them in. An alien sensation grew in my stomach and my pulse raced as I deliberated over whether I was developing feelings for Sebastian. I couldn’t be. I hadn’t even seen him up close yet, let alone spoken to him, and besides, I didn’t need the complication of a boyfriend in my life.

After breakfast, Beth left for her taekwondo class, so I packed my painting gear in a rucksack and set off walking, excited about returning to the picturesque pond.

Devoid of students for the weekend, the campus was strangely silent. My skin prickled as I crossed the grounds, and I imagined shadows moving behind the darkened windows. Quickening my pace, I hurried to the boundary, and before long I was retracing my steps along the winding route to the pond.

I spent a lazy few hours there recording the view from different angles—first sketching the scene, and then finishing with a light wash of colour—and after laying my efforts down to dry in the sun, I leant back against an old tree stump to eat my well-earned chicken sandwich.

After a while, the sandy colour appeared through the trees and caught my eye again. So, sandwich finished and paints safely stored, I set off towards the hill.

The ground sloped gently upwards at first, but soon grew steeper, and I was quite out of breath by the time I neared the trees, but it was worth the climb.

A huge old house was nestled in the arms of another tier of hills. To my left, a long gravelled driveway snaked its way through a line of trees and opened out at the front of an impressive set of stone steps leading up to the main entrance. Everywhere looked spookily deserted as I crossed over what would once have been a huge area of landscaped lawn, now left unloved and overgrown. There were no signs of life in the house, and the nearer I crept, the more I became convinced that the property had long since been abandoned.

I rounded the corner towards the rear of the building. On my right, set slightly back from the end of the house, was a vast expanse of high wall, broken only by an arched wooden gate. I peeped through the rusty keyhole and discovered an enclosed but open-air swimming pool, empty of water and covered with shrivelled green slime. It was surrounded by mildewed statues, and I could just about make out a row of dirty stained-glass windows on the house’s inner wall. Behind the building, the rear garden felt almost creepy. Dry mounds of soil with dead twigs protruding pointlessly up through a blanket of crusty leaves were the only evidence of the beauty it had once held.

Exploring further, I encountered two dilapidated greenhouses. Both of them had dirty broken panes and were filled with dried-up and decaying plants on dusty shelves. Sad little shoots in tiny pots lay in rows on a rickety workbench, never to grow and blossom.

Directly behind a nearby row of trees, a descending mist made it impossible to see further into the distance. I could only imagine what lay beyond.

I was lost in thought, picturing the old house’s glorious past, when a gust of wind blew an old carrier bag across the scene, and a chill ran through me. Realising I really shouldn’t be there, I nervously returned to the front of the house.

My prickles returned, and I had a feeling I was being watched, so I started to run over the grounds, through the trees, down the hill, past the pond, along the river, and all the way home. I had never run so quickly, or for so long, before, but I didn’t stop, and I didn’t feel safe, until I closed the flat’s door behind me and leaned against it, breathless.

Sophie? What the hell? You look like shit, Beth exclaimed.

I-I’m fine. Just getting a bit of exercise, I panted, glancing between her and Justin, who was in the seating area reading the Daily News.

He looked up and immediately discarded the paper, then hurried over to guide me towards the sofa. Exercise, my ass. Beth said you’d gone for a relaxing arty-farty morning. What happened?

My breathing eased a little as I relaxed. I did. Honestly. I did some great work. It’s in my bag if you don’t believe me. I took a deep breath. And...then I went for a walk.

Where? they questioned in unison.

Just up to the hills, near Lyall Ridge.

And? They were beginning to sound like a double act.

And nothing, I said, shaking my head. I came across an old house. A mist descended. I got spooked and came home. End of story.

Justin seemed curious. Um, just how big a house are we talking?

Quite big, I said, wondering why he was asking.

Hmm. I should have known. An old house near Lyall Ridge could only be Lovell Towers. No wonder you were spooked.

"Lovell Towers? As in Sebastian Lovell?" God, why did my stomach always knot up at the thought of him?

The very same. He studied my face for a reaction.

Oh, this just got interesting, Beth said as she handed me a glass of wine and then curled up on the nearby chair, clutching her own.

Justin shrugged. There’s not much to tell anymore. For centuries, the Lovells were big in the gold mining industry. That’s why they’re so rich.

His statement sparked Beth’s interest. Rich? Just how rich are we talking? she interrupted, and I could almost see the cogs starting to turn in her mind.

Oh, millions, Justin continued. "Anyway, Sebastian’s great-great-great-great—well, however many greats—grandfather had Lovell Towers built next to the mine entrance to be near the hub of things, and generation after generation of Lovells lived there until the accident when Sebastian’s father was a boy. He now works as a jeweller in the city."

I took a sip of wine, and my nerves calmed a little. What accident?

A tunnel collapsed. Many men were buried alive. Nasty business. Sebastian’s grandfather never forgave himself, and he jumped off a Lovell Towers parapet.

Oh, how awful. But his grandmother... You said the boys had convalesced with their grandmother. I glanced over at Beth, and she shrugged her shoulders in a don’t ask me way.

"Shouldn’t think she lives there, Justin said. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to. She probably lives in one of the old miners’ cottages on the edge of town, he speculated, studying his watch. Ooo, I must go. Mummy’s making lasagne for tea. Can’t miss that."

He picked up his jacket and threw it over his arm as he left.

Chapter Five

THE NEW WEEK arrived and began without incident. Then, on Thursday afternoon, I had a free period and decided to work on one of my assignments in peace. I found an empty classroom where I wouldn’t be disturbed and set to work.

My essay on the inner workings of a modern-day expressionist’s mind came along great. It’s amazing what you can get done without interruptions from well-meaning friends. I had almost finished and was mulling over the essay’s conclusion when a knock on the door